


And a Withered Rose Bloomed

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Series: Light, Smoke and Mirrors [1]
Category: Dark Tower - Stephen King
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 10:26:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11987910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: Roland is busy, Steven is away more and more often. And Gabrielle is lonely.Being married to a gunslinger is an honor, that’s what her parents always said. And being married to the lord of Gilead is the highest honor of all. Gabrielle looks at her husband and thinks that honor is a cold comfort.





	And a Withered Rose Bloomed

**Author's Note:**

> (Okay, so how about ye olde character development instead of magic?)

The hall is flooded with light, bright enough to ward off any darkness that would try to creep inside. Not that it matters, Gabrielle thinks, resigned too much even for bitterness, for anything but the constant, faint sorrow. Everyone here carries their shadows within, anyway.

It’s bright and colorful, and there are riddles and laughter, so different than how the castle usually is. For a home of a lord of light, Gilead seems strangely dark.

There’s also dancing, but only the youngest gunslingers dance sometimes. Steven never does. The last time they danced was at their wedding.

They were never in love, not really, but they were happy, at the beginning. She was young and pretty enough to interest any man, and Steven needed an heir, and they were all new to each other. So there were talks and discoveries and learning, and she was happy enough. In time, her husband turned his attention to other things – he had to, he had duties – but she had an infant son and was too busy. Roland filled the empty places in her heart. She was uncertain and afraid she would do something wrong, but she loved reading to him, singing him to sleep, holding him, teaching him to walk and listening to his first words.

But her son grew up. He has things to learn, duties to consider. He would rather run with his friends than listen to his mother reading to him. And that is how it should be, she knows and she is proud of him.

But in the end, that knowledge helps little. Roland is busy, Steven is away more and more often. And Gabrielle is lonely.

Being married to a gunslinger is an honor, that’s what her parents always said. And being married to the lord of Gilead is the highest honor of all. Gabrielle looks at her husband and thinks that honor is a cold comfort.

She takes a sip of wine, then puts the glass back onto the table and glances at the reflection there. Steven is talking to his advisor in a hushed tone. State matters, even now. It doesn’t even make her feel hurt anymore.

Gabrielle is twenty-six, and her husband still calls her a flower on those rare occasions he actually has time for her, but she feels like she’s wilting. There isn’t much more to do for her than preserve her beauty and behave appropriately. People look at her and see a pretty decoration or a noble lady, but not her. Never her.

Her husband nods – a permission? – and Marten gets up and reaches out to her, inviting her to dance. She blinks, startled, but Steven gives a brief smile of consent. This is not tradition, but she wants to dance so very much, to feel like that happy girl she used to be… She gathers the skirts of her gown, rises from her chair and lightly rests her fingers on Marten’s palm, uncertain.

The last time she danced was ten years ago. She’s afraid she doesn’t remember much. And it feels strange to be led by a man who’s not her husband. But once the dance begins, all awkwardness passes. Marten is a good dancer, his gestures courtly but formal, nothing more; he even compliments her, but she just thanks noncommittally and lets it pass. It’s just courtesy, meaningless.

But she can dance, and the world is light and music and color. For a few wonderful moments there is nothing more than that, just the steps she thought forgotten, but it turns out she knows them as if her last dance was yesterday, not a decade ago.

Gabrielle is twenty-six and smiling because she feels like a blooming rose again.

That is what he says to her, when the steps of the dance bring them back together. Something about roses. Gabrielle isn’t sure, because she glances at his face when he says that – just trying to be polite – and notices his eyes. Marten is looking at her like her husband hasn’t looked at her for years – maybe never – not like at a pretty faced noble lady or his lord’s wife, but simply a woman.

It shocks her so much she would have tripped over her own foot if he was not holding her. She has never paid any attention to him – he can be unnoticeable when he wants, almost invisible in plain sight, that probably goes with being a wizard – but now she does. He isn’t handsome, not more than her husband. But there is fire in his eyes, and that promises warmth and all kinds of things she misses most. But most importantly, he sees her.

Gabrielle is twenty-six, a wife and a mother, a grown woman. But for the first time in her life she feels as she was flying and plummeting down at once, and she thinks there might be something to all those tales of love at first sight. If one knows where and how to look.

* * *

 

When she wakes, Marten is up and dressed already, sitting at her vanity table with a book in his hands. Sometimes Gabrielle wonders if he sleeps at all. Maybe he doesn’t have to, being a magician.

She has no doubts that he is, because what he does to her is magic, sometimes light and sometimes dark, but magic all the same. Weaving his spells more and more tightly around her, as if it wasn’t far too late for her to ever break free. As if she had anything else to go to if she left him.

Adultery is a sin. For the wife of the lord of Gilead, it’s also treason. That’s the law, but Gabrielle recalls the tales of Arthur Eld and thinks it’s unfair. But it’s the law, and she’s not a king. She’s just a woman whose only transgression is wishing to not be alone.

She shivers under the sheets. It’s always like that when she wakes, and too hot whenever she falls asleep in his arms, as if she was burning. But a little fever is preferable to being cold all the time.

With Steven, things are – were – easier. Simpler. Straight, clearly drawn lines. With Marten, it’s whirls and steps – and mirrors. It’s difficult. It’s exhausting. Gabrielle often thinks that loving him is a curse. But sometimes it also feels like a blessing. Usually it just means she isn’t lonely, which is exactly what his eyes promised when they danced a few months ago. Now she knows the fire there was only a reflection – mirrors – because his eyes are dark ice, but even ice can burn. And perhaps pain is better than numbness.

Marten looks up from his book, hearing the rustle of the sheets. He probably guesses her thoughts. Or simply knows them. Because he really can see her, in such detail it scares her sometimes. Can see things she would rather not know about herself, but he shows her.

His hand moves, and she notices a dried rose tucked between the pages like a bookmark. It must have been red once, but now it has the color of old blood. It’s me, Gabrielle thinks with sudden clarity. Marten picks the flower up gently, raises it to his face and lightly touches his lips to the petals. The rose blooms, and when he leans in to sniff it, she can smell the scent. Fresh. Sweet. Heady.

It’s me, Gabrielle thinks when he looks at her.

* * *

 

When Roland turns to her, she knows he sees a mirror. Gabrielle wonders briefly if this, too, is Marten’s doing. If she should have heeded his warning. If that warning wasn’t a threat. One can never be sure, with Marten.

There are crumpled, dried rose petals on her bed. Reminder of the last time magic made it bloom. Memories she would rather forget. Memories that had made her do what she did, and the glow of the crystal tells her she will now die for it. She would have, sooner or later. It’s the law.

She’s never had a way out, not really. What choice was there between a man who might have cared for her – may still do – but could not show it, and a man who probably never cared but has shown her so much? In the end, she could not choose. And she will pay for it. It’s only fair, Gabrielle thinks. It’s only fair.

All those thoughts last no more than a heartbeat. And then the room is filled with the sound of thunder. For an instant, Gilead seems made entirely of light.

Roland is looking at her with wide eyes, a smoking gun in each hand. It’s fine. She hoped for another resolution, but it’s fine. He does see her now, he can truly see her, and it’s all she’s ever wanted, to be seen.

Her blood is warm and finally she is warm, too. He has done it out of love. If he did not care, he wouldn’t have bothered. It’s a good way to go, knowing, at the end, that she was loved.

Gabrielle dies with a smile on her lips.


End file.
